


the only heaven i'll be sent to (is when i'm alone with you)

by thimble



Series: SASO 2017 [31]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Priests, Exorcisms, M/M, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: It starts, rather unsurprisingly, with an exorcism.They begin the way they always they do (with some unsuspecting victim, head twisting one hundred and eighty degrees, voice like the wind when it howls and slams windows back and forth during a storm, strength and violence that surpasses the capacity of the host) and finishes the way they are ought to (with prayers in an obsolete tongue that that only finds its use in situations such as this, a crucifix raised and holy water thrown just so, in unwavering faith that's been tested again and again.)There's no reason it shouldn't have ended right then and there.[i.e. what's a priest to do when a demon's taken a liking to him?]





	the only heaven i'll be sent to (is when i'm alone with you)

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=13514565#cmt13514565) prompt.

It starts, rather unsurprisingly, with an exorcism.   
  
They begin the way they always they do (with some unsuspecting victim, head twisting one hundred and eighty degrees, voice like the wind when it howls and slams windows back and forth during a storm, strength and violence that surpasses the capacity of the host) and finishes the way they are ought to (with prayers in an obsolete tongue that that only finds its use in situations such as this, a crucifix raised and holy water thrown just so, in unwavering faith that's been tested again and again.)  
  
There's no reason it shouldn't have ended right then and there.  
  


* * *

  
  
In Midorima's opinion, the movies give it too much flair than it warrants, but not enough. Because it hadn't threatened his life, hadn't sworn to return and haunt him, hadn't vowed revenge. What does happen, in his opinion, is much subtler, and much, much worse.   
  
He'd awaken to the other side of his bed disturbed, the sheets crumpled and warm, even if he knows that he stays in the same position when he sleeps. He'd be in the bathroom, catching glimpses of a shadow in the mirror, then finding his own reflection when he faces it to brush his teeth or shave.   
  
He'd be walking on the street when a passerby would smile his way, tell him good morning, only to open his mouth to return the sentiment and notice the passerby's eyes flickering black, their smile sharpening before it disappears completely.   
  


* * *

  
  
Takao calls him frequently, often for trivial matters, but Midorima never quite has the heart to hang up anymore. Perhaps age has softened him; perhaps he finds comfort in the arbitrary conversations, no matter how one-sided they are. So he picks up when his mobile phone rings at an ungodly hour and sees who it is.  
  
"Shin-chan, I think—I think something's in here with me, and it's... it's... I don't know what to—Shin-chan, you have to come  _now_ , before it—"  
  
"Calm down, Takao," says Midorima, however erratically his heart is beating at the thought of Takao subjected to the danger Midorima faces daily. He would not wish it on anyone. "Are you in your home? I'll be there short—"  
  
"No! Shin-chan, it's already—" Takao cuts himself off, but as Midorima's frozen in place with the prospect of  _too late_ , he's met with loud, roaring laughter.  
  
"You're always a treat, Shin-chan," says Takao, and hangs up.  
  


* * *

  
  
Midorima confronts Takao the next time they see each other — the very next day, in fact, because the prank had been far too cruel to leave for a later date. Takao opens his door, blinks.  
  
"Hey, Shin-chan. What brings you around to my humble abode?"  
  
"Don't pretend you don't know," says Midorima, with a coldness not even Takao might've been expecting.   
  
"But," says Takao, eyes wide, and, most importantly, innocent, as he takes in Midorima's anger. "I really don't."  
  
Midorima stills. In his ear a familiar laughter is resounding, even if in front of him Takao's mouth is closed and frowning.  
  
The realization deepens, darkens. He knows, now, that he's the only one who can hear it.  
  


* * *

  
  
At his next exorcism, the demon cowers the moment he enters the room, eyes wide and staring at something that seems to be behind Midorima's shoulder. It succumbs to him with little complaint.  
  
At the next one, the same thing happens. And the next, and the next. One of them puts up more of a struggle, but when Midorima waves his hand to silence it, a rush of power he'd never had before smacks the demon right out of its host.   
  
Midorima looks at his hand, with the knowledge that it wasn't the rosary beads wrapped around it that had helped him. He'd never had that kind of power, because it hadn't been his at all.   
  


* * *

  
  
Akashi enters his chapel one day, looking like himself, like he always does, but Midorima can see the signs now. Or feel them, more like—the way the air seems to turn solid, oppressive, the shadows that are cast where they shouldn't be.   
  
"Evening, Shintarou," Akashi starts to say, and Midorima gives it no reason to continue the charade.   
  
"I know it's you," he says, simply. Then Akashi's mouth twists in a knife-like smile, and his eyes flicker black just like those passersby, before he slumps to the ground, right between the pews. Materializing out of the air is a man like any other, with nothing sinister about him apart from the deadliness of his beauty.   
  
"Very astute," it says, as it walks towards the pulpit, easy as it pleases. It glances over its shoulder at Akashi's unconscious form, its expression reassuring.  
  
"Don't worry about him, by the way. He'll just be a little disoriented come morning. CEOs could stand to come to church more often anyway, don't you think?"  
  
Midorima stares it down, unmoving.  
  
"So you show your true face," he says, evenly, showing no weakness. "What of your true name?"  
  
"As if I'd fall for that," it says, its grin dripping with condescension. "Besides, it would burn your tongue if you tried to speak it. You're better off calling me Tatsuya."   
  
"And what is it you want, Tatsuya?"   
  
"It's no mystery to you. I'm not very original."  
  
"Humor me." Midorima's eyes never leave the inky darkness of Tatsuya's, not when it trails its hand over the altar behind him, and not when it dips its fingers in the basin of holy water and lifts them to its lips.  
  
"Curiosity. I want to see a pious man looks like when he lives a little."  
  
"How I live is none of your concern."  
  
"Oh, but it is. The moment you meddled with my fun, I realized just how much it  _is_. You liked that power I lent you, didn't you?"  
  
"I did," says Midorima, because to lie would be to give it more of an opening. "More than I would've wanted to."  
  
"There's more where that came from."  
  
"And what do you want in return?"  
  
"You know how to strike a deal, I see," says Tatsuya, stepping closer to Midorima, smile widening when Midorima doesn't step back. "Nothing too big. Nothing you aren't willing to give."  
  
"And I suppose you're thinking of starting like this," says Midorima, his breath coming in slow as the inches between their faces dissipate. His heart, strangely enough, is fairly calm, as if it had been conditioned to Tatsuya's presence, and now sees this as a satisfactory end result.   
  
"We can start however you like, Father." When Tatsuya speaks, its lips brush over Midorima's, and they're soft, pliant, sweet; easier for Midorima's teeth to sink into than if he were biting into an apple.


End file.
